


That Time Steve wanted to be more like Bucky

by heizl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood, Control Issues, Emotional Hurt, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Modern Era, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Self-Harm, Separation Anxiety, Series, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, implied cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 08:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16950126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heizl/pseuds/heizl
Summary: Bucky already had his own nasty way of dealing with things; rather, he didn't deal with things. He chose to instead, either explode at others or, more recently, become self destructive and take it all out on himself. Was safer that way, he always said.He never imagined Steve to take on the habits that were so personal to him though. Bucky was trying to get better, desperately was trying to quit. That's probably why it wasn't just shocking when he saw what Steve had done, to himself.—"It's better to feel pain, than nothing at all. The opposite of love's indifferenceSo pay attention now, I'm standing on your porch screaming out.And I won't leave until you come downstairs.So keep your head up, keep your loveKeep your head up, my loveAnd I don't blame ya dear, for running like you did, all these years.I would do the same, your best believe, and the highway signs say we're close.But I don't read those things anymore, I never trusted my own eyes.When we were young, oh oh, we did enough.When it got cold, oh oh, we bundled up.I can't be told, ah ah, can't be done.Keep your head up, my love."-Stubborn Love by "The Lumineers"





	That Time Steve wanted to be more like Bucky

* * *

 

 

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

 

There was a clock on the wall, one of those basic, semi old fashioned ones, with the large plastic outlining. Though its insides were as bland it could get (looked like the numbers were printed a bit fuzzy even), its outside was colored a rose pink. God, the thing was _really_ getting on Bucky's nerves. He wasn't sure why they even had one of those damn things in the first place.

 

It was 2017, for crying out loud. He threw out his _own_ alarm clock six years ago, why the hell would anyone need one on a wall? Not like it even matched any of the other decor in the living room. He figured Rebecca bought it (that was her favorite color anyways) and convinced their mom to hang it up.

 

Ugh, Christ. Speaking of time; time felt like it was moving by so slow he could count the _seconds_ that each individual second passed by. He couldn't help it when he started scratching his own fingers, grinding his upper teeth against his lower lip (winced when he could smell iron, familiar taste on his tongue and it made him want to vomit).

 

This was the first time Steve'd been back to Bucky's place in Indiana since... Well, he was there Easter of 2015? Something like that. He had a photo of it somewhere. Another holiday his family didn't really celebrate, other than having an egg hunt for the kiddos in the family (...and Bucky lovedddd getting chocolate rabbits. He also had a huge guilty pleasure for edible Easter grass. Stuff was disgusting but he loved the kind of sweets that literally rotted your teeth right off.)

 

The reason why the clock was annoying him so much was probably because he was already a bit irritated to begin with. A week ago, he'd been sitting on Steve (and Sam's) couch in Brooklyn. He managed to get a bit more time off than last month, and it was actually a lot of fun — Peggy and her wife were down to meet up for a couple of drinks, Bucky got to meet Clint's new dog finally (yeah, another stray that he begged Natasha to bring in), and they also had their days of just lounging around all day in pajamas. Didn't feel guilty about it because they had a few extra days to burn this time around.

 

Day before Bucky was supposed to leave and he asked Steve something he'd been thinking about for awhile. Words were on the tip of his tongue until the words came from Steve's own mouth, " _You think it'd be okay if I came to Indiana with you for the weekend_?"

 

That meant two _more_ twelve hour drives just to get Steve's ass back home (couldn't afford a plane ticket, what's new), but that didn't stop Bucky's face from practically getting permanently stuck in a wide smile. He'd grinned ear to ear, knocked Steve over and kissed him 'til he was out of breath.

 

 _"Best damn idea you've ever come up with_."

 

It was nice having Steve here, don't take this the wrong way. His mom was ecstatic to finally hug Steve again, after so many years. Steve got to meet Rebecca's boyfriend, properly and not over Skype. He finally introduced Steve to Gabe and Dugan as his boyfriend. He took Steve  sightseeing in Southern Indiana (their idea of hiking turned more into Steve climbing onto Bucky's back and screeching as Bucky tripped and almost knocked them off the side of a hill).

 

But, tonight was their last night together. And instead of spending it leaning into Bucky's side, like he _normally_ did, he opted to take shelter in the bathroom. Bucky was, well, more than worried at first. He always worried about Steve, but he brushed it off as stomach issues, something not that uncommon for him. Then, he started getting annoyed because he had to watch the end of the fucking stupid _Barbie_ movie that Steve insisted they put on by himself. After that came the pestering worry again... rinse and repeat.

 

Bucky'd had enough. Seriously, it'd been an hour now. Probably. Maybe not. _Could've_ been fifteen minutes, but it totally _felt_ like an hour in his mind. Forcing himself to stand from the couch, even though he really didn't want to because their couch was pretty goddamn comfy, he shook a flannel blanket from his shoulders. He tried to quiet his steps, because he didn't want to give away that he was going to eavesdrop on Steve (well, he just wanted to see if he _could_ hear anything), but that task was pretty much near impossible in their old, extra squeaky home.

 

He didn't hear Steve say anything though, and so he continued, gingerly leaning against the downstairs bathroom door. He didn't know what he was expecting to hear. Maybe he was trying to see if he was crying? Or, on the phone? In pain?

 

It was silent. Started making his nerves all fidgety and he started clenching his knuckles without even noticing it.

 

And then, there was a small sound. Soft.

 

"Nngh."

 

A groan. Could've meant anything.

 

 _Sniff_.

 

Okay, maybe he had the sniffles. He had quite a few allergies; mostly dust and pollen, but, it was Spring. Lots of pollen lingering in the air right now. Bucky always hated bees. Annoying fuckers.

 

Shaky breath. Okay, still could mean anything.

 

"Ah— _fuck_ ," there was a sound of metal clanging against the old linoleum tiles in there and it got Bucky's ears absolutely burning. He knew that exact noise. Knew _why_ he knew that exact noise, and it started making his throat feel scratchy. His eyes all watery. And, he didn't have any allergies.

 

Couldn't be that. Why would it be? That's ridiculous. Steve wasn't like him, he'd never do that sort of—

 

"Ow— _shit_!' That was much louder. But, it was followed by a smack of skin. Sounded like he was trying to cover his own mouth, cause his words muffled.

 

Bucky shifted his weight, mostly because he was pretty distracted by... what he really didn't want to think was going on. He was slow to process the creak that was agonizingly loud once it registered in his ears. Jigs up.

 

"B-Bucky?" He sounded out of breath.

 

He didn't know what to say. He was still just in the stage of being assumptive. So, was he supposed to feel furious about, what he could've been doing? What if he wasn't? He didn't want to scare the shit out of Steve, regardless of the situation. Was he supposed to start breaking down and fall to his knees and become a sobbing mess? Should he say "I love you" and coax Steve to come out?

 

"Open— come out..." his tongue felt twisted. "Steven."

 

Another shaky exhale from behind the door and Bucky wasn't only seeing red, but blurred. A blurry red. His fingers wrapped around the door handle and the feel of the smooth metal almost shocked him. He felt jumpy all of the sudden and his clothes itched his skin. Everything was uncomfortable, felt uncomfortable, but he tried to keep himself grounded. It's not like he ever did therapy, even after the fucking mental breakdown he went through. Yeah, definitely should've gone to a hospital after he slit a long line down his arm, but he still believed that he could get himself to a better place. All on his own.

 

He did pick up a few self help books on PTSD and anxiety though — mostly because Steve suggested them, and he'd really do anything he asked for, even if he told him to jump off a bridge (seriously). But, also because his boss (who also dealt with PTSD from being stationed overseas for eight years) recommended he check them out.

 

"Steven," he was more stern this time. "Open. _Now_."

 

Still hesitation. Bucky jostled with the handle and almost fell face first when the door swung wide open. Steve never did lock doors, even if he was pissed or didn't want to be bothered. Guess he wasn't a complete moron.

 

Tsunamis— big waves, beautiful in paintings and sorta scary in person. Emotions— sound great in theory and look great on paper, but are horrifying to experience. So, what do those two have in common? Well... just told you the similarities. A tsunami of emotions washed over Bucky; his breath at first hitched but then he found himself swallowing the air he tried to desperately grasp to before he was coughing, choking. His skin was numb, cooler than cool ( _ice cold_ ). His socks were suddenly made of concrete, which was odd because he specifically remembered reading 100% cotton on the packaging.

 

He was still seeing red, but it wasn't from his anger anymore, unfortunately. His anger had also... it was still there, for sure, but it had evolved. Now his anger was more self directed. All he could physically feel, in terms of putting a name to an emotion, was desperation. Desperation for Steve. There was some sorrow to that, but all he wanted to do was fucking punch Steve and hold him close.

 

The shorter man, his nails looked like he'd messily painted them. Coated in red, his skin seemed even paler in comparison to the darkened blood that globbed on his wrist. A particular cut (none were very deep, thank Fucking God, or else Bucky would've had a heart attack for real) was still bleeding, though the rest seemed to have dried and crusted over already.

 

There were about five horizontal slices directly under the back of Steve's palm. And he knew from experience how sensitive that particular area was. He never liked cutting there, didn't give him any pleasure. Just made his hand itch something bad, sometimes lose feelings in the tips of his fingers and that scared him enough to stop trying. Bucky counted one more on his right arm, the one reaching for a loose roll of toilet paper. That one actually did seem to be somewhat deep; still looked superficial at least, but it was glistening.

 

Also glistening, from the floor, was a small silver blade. Caught his attention pretty quick and Bucky wasn't sure what to think. He bent over rather quick, carefully clawing at the thing until he could pick it up. There was some blood on it. This is when he also recognized the blade as one of the replacements for his razor. You know, the thing he used to shave his beard with.

 

"I'm so fucking mad at you, I don't even know what to say, Steve." That's all he could croak out. He cringed at how quiet his voice had gone. He could hardly hear himself, and it wasn't from the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

 

Steve was looking right at him, surprisingly. He wasn't trying to dart his eyes away, like he normally did. They were both focused and locked in on each other. Who was going to break the silence first though, was the big question at the moment.

 

"The hell are you doing?" Bucky cocked his head and his lips parted with a smack. He was stretching out his arm, but it seemed like Steve was accepting the invitation before he'd even moved. He was taking a step forward towards Bucky, and then he was cuddling into his chest, arms limp either side of his body. Bucky was starting to feel tense; Steve's breathing was so labored and raspy, he didn't know what to do if he started to get an asthma attack. Usually he carried one of his inhalers on him, at all times, but he'd forgotten it on his nightstand.

 

"James," Steve was somehow even quieter than Bucky. He could feel his eyes wanting to close; now they were dangerously tearing up and it made his whole face twitch. One hand placed on the back of Steve's thigh and he was hunching over to haul Steve into his arms. His slender legs were wrapping around his hips, just as slender arms around his neck. He felt his wet lips against the side of his cheek.

 

He shook his head, and, he was so careful about this that his muscles stiffened and tightened to the points of cramps — he moved one hand from holding Steve to grasp his chin. Pulling Steve to face directly forward (his skin kept circular red marks from his fingers), he kissed him, mouthing nothings against his skin.

 

"I love you."

 

"Love you too, James."

 

"You know I want to beat the living shit out of you, right?"

 

"I wouldn't blame you."

 

He thumped the back of Steve's head, hard. Made even Bucky flinch.

 

"Not gonna take that out on you. You don't fucking deserve that. You hearin' me?"

 

Steve nodded.

 

"What is — so _bad,_ that you had to come in here and — do you want to look like me? You want all these goddamn marks and chunks and lines on your arm?"

 

Steve didn't move. Bucky found himself fisting through his hair until he found purchase on a large section of blond, pulling until Steve's brows knitted.

 

"Not gonna let you. I fucked up. You don't need to."

 

Bucky sucked in his lips. He was feeling impatient. Fuck feeling nervous, or even anxious. He didn't want to only escape his body but the entire planet. He really didn't know how to deal with this.

 

"You gonna say anything?"

 

Steve blinked. Once, twice, his long lashes fluttered against those perfect freckles that Bucky'd always admired. "I don't want to leave you."

 

Bucky flicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "You ain't telling me that's why you hurt yourself. Cause, I ain't believin' it."

 

"I can't," his mouth hung open before it slowly shut. He continued, "I told you this before. I don't know how to function without you. And that's not a lie."

 

He was again tugging on him, smashing their foreheads together. "But, you aren't without me. I'm right fucking here, Steve."

 

Taking one step backwards, he was pulling them from the bathroom, elbowing the light switch. Probably would've been good to clean off Steve, put some rubbing alcohol on his new wounds (maybe the sting would snap his mind into place). But, that wasn't his worry right now. There was also blood on the sink now, but he'd come back and wash that off before anyone woke up. All he needed to do was get Steve upstairs and wrap him so tightly in so many blankets that he wouldn't be able to even think about hurting himself anymore.

 

Bending and pressing on the TV controller, he watched as the room suddenly grew dark. Upstairs they then went.

 

"You won't be. Tomorrow."

 

He kissed him again. "Stop. Thinking. So. Far. Ahead."

 

Bucky sighed. Really sighed. Was deep from his stomach and hurt his lungs as it came out. He didn't mean to slam his door shut, because it was pretty late, but he couldn't help it. Without turning on the lights, or letting go of Steve even, he lowered them both onto his bed, kicking away the sheets. An arm still wrapped around his waist, he reached for his comforter with the other, pulling it snugly around them both.

 

"I'm not tired."

 

"Me either. Guess that means we can stare at each other for a couple more hours then, huh?"

 

Through the dark, his eyes started to adjust. There was a sliver of light coming in from his window, bit of moon peeking through. He could see the whites around Steve's blues. He looked blank. And, not a forced blank. Just an overall shut down, dead expression. It hurt Bucky, hurt him more than when they stopped talking, even.

 

"Stevie," he said in a long breath, cursing himself how sing-songy it sounded. He brushed the back of his knuckles down his cheek. Steve leaned into the touch.

 

"Baby, why would you ever do that to yourself? What's the point?"

 

"I— wanted to know what it felt like."

 

"To cut yourself?"

 

"to hate yourself."

 

Bucky just wanted to laugh. Not because anything was humorous, but because whoever was talking... It wasn't Steve anymore. It was weird. "Why?"

 

He finally broke his stare. "Can you— keep saying you love me."

 

A light snort. Hardly. "Yeah, honey. As much as you want to hear it; I love you, Steve."

 

"I love you too," he could feel Steve rubbing the cuff of his long sleeve, pulling on him too. "Hold me tighter."

 

And he did. Pulled him closer, held him as tightly as he could, even if it was a bit uncomfortable. He trailed through the back of Steve's hair, kissed his cheeks and forehead and sore tip of his nose all while muttering, "I love you. I love you so fucking much. More than anything," only for Steve to hear.

 

* * *

 

 

When he woke up in the morning (fucking startled because of the neighbor's goddamn shitty stupid rooster that screamed its head off every day at the crack of dawn), he tried to convince himself the night before was only a horrible, terrible, awful vivid nightmare. It wasn't, and he was reminded of that when he brushed against the raised, warm welts of Steve's arm. Was reminded even harder when he scrubbed down the outside of the sink with an old sponge; the yellow of it stained, was now more orange than anything.

 

He leaned over the sink, knuckling whiter than the porcelain even. God, he was pissed at himself for not turning to the toilet, because he literally just cleaned the sink, but the sight of the unmoved blade pushed him over the edge. First he was only choking on foamy spit, but then his stomach was clenching in every way possible and he was vomiting clear liquids with a whine.

 

His throat was throbbing, everything felt clammy, but he still had work to do. Cleaned the sink, _again_. Checked over his work, twice and thrice. Wrapped the blade ten times in toilet paper and flushed it down the toilet. Flicked off the lights, closed the door.

 

He snatched a blanket from the couch before he was trudging back upstairs, again slamming his door shut (but a lot quieter, only for the sake of not waking up Steve). The shifting mattress jostled him a bit, and he was sleepily trying to look at him, but Bucky shushed and hummed, and Steve went right back into his arms.

 

"Go back to sleep, honey."

 

"but 'm wake."

 

Bucky half chuckled. "No, you ain't."

 

"Buck." Steve was sharing his pillow, and it made him happy because that meant it would smell like him, and it'd be like he was still in his bed for a couple more days after he'd leave today.

 

"What, Stevie?"

 

"Say the — the thing."

 

"The... The thing?" Steve wouldn't be able to see the mischievous smirk that was starting to grow across Bucky's face. Probably for the better. Softly, very softly rather, and in Steve's ear, he whispered, "Somebody got to the bloo—"

 

"Oh my God, don't." His eyes flicked right open, and that got Bucky wholly laughing.

 

"What? Thought you had fun when we went to that drive in! You love _The Thing_."

 

Steve's nose wrinkled. "It was fun, 'cause I knew you got scared."

 

"No I didn't."

 

Now it was Steve's turn to smirk. "Thought you didn't lie anymore, James?"

 

"Ain't lyin', Steven."

 

"Mm, okay," Steve kissed the gruff of his chin, reached for his hands. "You know what I mean though."

 

"Yeah, I get it." He gave him a squeeze. "Want me to keep being sappier than a tree. You're stupid, but I love you, Steve."

 

"Love you too," Steve's voice was being drowned out by drowsiness. His eyes were finally shut, and Bucky's were slowly finding themselves mimicking Steve's.

 

"Want me to keep saying it?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Love you, Stevie."

 

"Love you too, James."

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Had this idea for awhile, but never actually sat down to write it because I was trying to decide if this was something Steve would /actually/ try. And honestly, I think he would. Steve's always the one that seems pretty put together, but he has just as many issues as Bucky. Just hides it better (sorry Buck). :'-(


End file.
